


Red Rubber Band

by HermaiaMoira (orphan_account)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Christianity, Fundamentalism, Hannibal is a Demanding Bottom, Hannibal knows what he's doing, Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Past Sexual Abuse, Self-Flagellation, Shame-Kink, Shota, Summer Camp AU, Will is a Service Top, juvenile delinquents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-04-22 13:10:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4836584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/HermaiaMoira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Graham is a teenage counselor at a Christian summer camp for delinquent boys, called Camp Promise. There he meets a young camper named Hannibal, a precocious and seductive boy who leads him down the path of temptation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Windegobunny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windegobunny/gifts), [whiskeyandspite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/gifts).



> In this AU, Hannibal is a bit younger than Will.

Will Graham, sixteen and still willowy and youthful looking, stood before the pack of boys from his designated cabin. Shaggy black hair fell into his blue eyes, loose gym shorts hanging around scabby knees. The air was thick and humid and sinfully hot. The constant buzzing of locusts left a ringing in his ears and a persistent itch on the surface of his skin.

Camp Promise was small and spotted with poorly-maintained shrubbery, fields, and sparse trees. Funding wasn’t anything remarkable. Most of the donations came from local fundamentalist Christian churches and groups; the occasional individual. Even so, when young boys committed petty crimes in the vicinity of the religious camp, judges were quick to give them the option: spend time in juvie, or spend the summer at Camp Promise. That garnered a bit of much-needed state money. Will had volunteered as a counselor through the encouragement of his own youth pastor. He cleared his throat, trying to maintain an air of authority despite being barely larger than the younger teens in his care.

“All right, we’re playing capture the ball!” he announced, holding a textured red dodge-ball above his head. “Whoever has the ball, try to avoid getting tackled by the other players! If you get tackled, give up the ball and whoever picks it up is ‘it’. Boy with the ball at the end of the period wins.”

Peter, a large kid with a perpetually hoarse voice, stood up straight and tugged on his shirt.

“You mean smear the queer?” he called out.

“We’re not calling it that,” Will replied.

Peter scoffed and nodded to his buddy, Malcolm. The two had found each other in this camp and had bonded over their shared machismo and brusque sense of humor.

Will threw the ball up in the air and gave it a hard smack. The satisfying hollow noise of inflatable rubber sounded above the racket of insects and the ball flew across the field with a pack of overly-hormonal boys in chase.

He watched with a smiling sniff. The boys scrambled for the chance to be basically pummeled by their peers, a deliberate crow of bravado with the faintest hint of testosterone-induced sadomasochism. The kid with the longest legs scooped up the ball and, bursting with the adrenaline rush that comes with realizing one’s fate, whirled and rushed away from the violent pack.

Will’s smile froze on his face and then faded when his camp counselor senses fired off a warning. Peter and Malcolm were swooping around like hungry buzzards, away from the fast kid and directly toward…

A slighter boy with sandy blond hair darted backwards when he saw them coming. He was quick, but they had flanked him. Will saw the menacing grins on their faces and ran toward them. Too late, Peter clotheslined the thin boy and Malcolm plowed in from the side, knocking him down to the grass. They flung themselves upon him, bashing their elbows into his gut and ribs.

Will pulled them off, gritting his teeth and puffing out his chest to resume his control over the two. He looked down at the crumpled figure, a twinge of affection making him swallow. This was the strange boy, with a strange name. He sat up, ignoring his bruised ribs and calmly taking the time to suck the knocked-out wind back into his lungs.

“What are you doing?” Will shouted at the bigger teens. “He didn’t have the ball.”

“Oh I thought we were playing smear the queer,” Peter laughed. “Hannibal is the biggest queer here.”

Will felt tightness in his throat as he glanced back at Hannibal. The young boy merely sat with his hands flat on either side of him, focusing a silently burning glare at the bullies.

“Are you all right?” Will asked him.

Hannibal nodded and stood up in one easy motion. He regained his poise quickly and crinkled his nose at his attackers in a show of disdain. Peter and Malcolm lost their grins to expressions of loathing for this proud boy, so above them, so superior.

“Go to the cabin!” Will ordered. “You’re both written up.”

Will let the game resume and he ushered Hannibal to a bench. From the moment the quiet, oddly dignified teen came to stay at the camp, Will was keenly aware that he was going to be a target. Hannibal was effete and precocious, two traits that paint a target on one’s back in this sort of company. He was immediately curious as to what Hannibal had done to be sent to Camp Promise. The record indicated a history of violence. There was something about the thin boy that kept Will from being too surprised. No, he wasn’t brutish and base like the others, but he was quiet and had an intensely watchful and observant gaze that was just a bit unnerving.

“It’s always the quiet ones,” another counselor had muttered to him.

Even so, Will felt a strong desire to protect and befriend this boy. His refined features, his soft murmuring voice, and profoundly intelligent eyes revealed what he felt to be a kindred spirit.

“I’m sorry about that,” Will said to Hannibal, putting his hand on his back. He felt the wiry muscles between the youth’s shoulder blades ease and then strengthen beneath his palm, pushing back into the touch. Will withdrew, glancing away from Hannibal’s eager posture.

“They will be written up,” the boy replied, looking forward. “And then what?”

“Well that’s it,” Will admitted. “Two more strikes and they’re out, though.”

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed as he watched Peter and Malcolm lumbering back to the cabin, shoving each other and laughing.

Every night, after supper, the camp had a group period called “counsel time” in the chapel. It was really just a sermon, from a different adult leader for each day of the week. Tonight’s “counsel” was on trials and tribulations, and how God uses them for good in each of the lives of his children.

Hannibal sat down beside Will on the pew as he always did. Near the beginning of the summer Will had recoiled a bit, as showing preference for one boy would draw the ire of the others, but Hannibal evidently didn’t care. He would come and sit by Will anyway and occasionally ask him questions about what the speaker was saying. Will had come to rather enjoy it. Really they were more like rhetorical questions, commentary on the sermon. They were always strange, and always made Will’s mind have to work a bit more than the unchallenging monotony of Sunday-School-grade hash.

“Do you think God used the trials of Holocaust victims for good?” Hannibal whispered.

Will’s lips parted slowly as he stared ahead.

“I think that stemmed from the evil of human beings, not God.”

“According to this speaker, God uses all hardships for good.”

“I believe those people were rewarded in heaven.”

“For what?” Hannibal asked. “Suffering?”

“They didn’t deserve to suffer, so I believe God made it up to them.”

“Why do you think God rewards suffering?”

“It’s important for us to remain steadfast in our devotion throughout our struggles.”

“God allowed them to suffer. He created their tormentors; he created the ability to feel pain. He willfully constructs situations in which mankind surely must suffer, and then never prevents it when he is able. Why reward us afterward?”

Will was silent.

“It must be,” Hannibal mused, “God delights in the spectacle of suffering. It’s… elegant. It’s romantic. When people endure their pain for his pleasure, he gives them a reward.”

As the sermon ended and the kids filed out to return to their cabins, Will and Hannibal sat still for a moment in the emptiness of the chapel.

“Where do you stand in the scheme of things?” Will asked.

Hannibal scooted closer until his leg pressed against Will’s. The counselor glanced down at the sudden touch.

“I can’t help but root for Mephistopheles,” Hannibal responded, tilting his head so that his lips were near Will’s ear. “And be contemptuous of Faust.”

Will considered remarking on how well-read the young boy was, but decided that Hannibal was not one to appreciate a patronizing compliment. He chuckled.

“God is not Mephistopheles,” he pointed out. His neck and ears began to tickle at the proximity of Hannibal’s mouth. He could feel his breath on him and it made him terribly uncomfortable.

“Then what is he?” Hannibal whispered.

Will had his own room in the cabin; just a small cubicle with a cot, dresser, and a nightstand. The boys in the next room slept in rows of bunk beds. Now alone, he stripped down to a T-shirt and boxer shorts and sat on the edge of his bed. He thought about Hannibal’s insistence about sitting next to him at counsel time, about the way he scooted close and pressed his thigh against his own and whispered in his ear.

The camp leaders had instructed the counselors about inappropriateness concerning their relationships with the campers. They warned about getting too close, about the emotional vulnerability of troubled young boys. Will realized he was approaching the threshold. He certainly gave Hannibal more attention than the others, and the bright boy seemed quite attached to him. He went over the possibilities in his mind: telling Hannibal he had to sit somewhere else, behaving more coldly toward him, pulling away from his touch. None of it felt good for him to consider.

Will had experienced something similar at the hands of his own youth pastor. He knew what it was like to feel the cold absence of a mentor who was pulling away. Being a foster kid didn’t help matters. Starving for attention and affection, Will had taken comfort in the guidance of an older man. For the first time in his young life, he felt like he had a father. Then it all fell apart.

It had happened sometime after Will, in a desperate panic, confessed to the pastor that he was having feelings for men. He remembered the advice the man gave him. He handed him a rubber band and told him to put it around his wrist. Whenever he felt unrighteous homosexual lust, he should snap the band against his skin and bring himself back to his senses.

Will wore the rubber band every day. Every day he snapped his own flesh and felt like a chastised dog. Eventually, he was able to repress his unwanted thoughts and he didn’t need to wear the band any longer. His relationship with his pastor, however, was forever distant.

Will groaned at the memory and rubbed his face with both hands. He could hear the sound of Peter’s voice declaring that Hannibal was a “queer.” It set his teeth on edge. His palms came back damp as he pushed them through the curls over his forehead. It was miserably hot. He grabbed a towel from his dresser and headed toward the communal showers.

When he entered the bathroom, the air was foggy and he could hear the showers running. It was rather late and the boys had a curfew. He walked toward the entrance to the shower room and glanced inside to see the slight young teen with sandy blonde hair, his hands planted on the wall as he leaned forward under the pressure of the water flowing on his back.

Will watched him silently as the boy began to lather up shampoo and card it through his hair. The watery suds ran down the glistening skin of his back and over the cleft of his bottom. Hannibal worked the suds over his body, peachy and soft beneath his delicate hands. He shifted his weight to one leg, causing his hip to sway just so. Will swallowed and lowered his head, but his eyes were planted on the boy and his lovely slender frame. The sharp jut of his shoulder-blades, the fleshy underside of his buttocks, the dimples on his lower back; he was a vision. Will felt blood rushing to his groin, and a swelling and stirring in his belly.

Hannibal froze for a moment, looking ahead at the silver tap on the wall, but then continued to wrap his lithe arms around himself, scrubbing the back of his neck and stretching in a graceful arch of his spine. Then, one of his hands dropped in front of him and he began to fondle his young cock. Will stepped back silently, trying to convince himself to leave. Hannibal tossed his head back to rest on angular shoulders as he ran one hand over the curve of his ass and stroked himself with the other. When the young boy’s slender fingers began to slide between his cheeks, and his cock grew stiff in his grasp, Will bit his lip hard and turned away to return to his bunk.

He threw the towel hard at his dresser and it slid across and landed in a slump on the floor. Digging the heels of his palms into his eyes until he saw spots, Will groaned and sat on the edge of his cot. He breathed in and out through pursed lips as he stared at his nightstand. Finally, he reached out and opened the drawer. Inside was a mess of various items, including a few loose rubber bands. He pulled out a particularly thick one and held it in front of his face.

He felt his neck burn and his muscles tense up. Lying back, he lowered his boxers around his knees, baring his erection. It twitched, half-engorged below a patch of dark pubic hair. He did what he had eventually resorted to doing after his pastor had taught him the snap trick. Chewing his lip, Will slid the rubber band over his penis and twisted it around the base until it was tight against his shaft and testicles. His breath came quicker now, shame flooding his face and collar with a clammy sensation.

Pulling the band away from his balls, he held it there for a minute before gritting his teeth and releasing it. Snap. He winced and jolted against the mattress of the cot. Again. Snap. Again and again until his erection faded into pain and he covered his mouth with one hand to stifle the sounds of his whimpers.


	2. Chapter 2

When the boys had left the cabin empty for lunch, Will lingered to examine the beds and the cleanliness of their living space. He noticed a couple magazines poking out just a bit from beneath a pillow and sighed, knowing what was in them before he even plucked them from their not-so-hidden cache.

To his surprise, instead of busty women in bikinis and thongs he was greeted with seductive gazes and poses of willowy young men. He flipped through, examining the images of men running fingers over each other, grazing lips, tasting flesh. He glanced at the name card at the head of the bed. It read “Hannibal.”

Will grimaced. Then he heard a shuffling sound behind him and turned to see the boy himself, standing with hands in his pockets and head cocked.

“I have no idea how those got there,” he said, in a strangely uninflected tone. Will cleared his throat and dropped the magazines to the bed.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Hannibal approached the bed and sat down with a bounce. Will joined him, hands in his lap, back hunched as he waited to listen. Hannibal didn’t say anything at all.

“I know the other boys make fun of you for…” Will trailed off, and then continued. “I won’t make fun of you.”

Hannibal sighed and said, “They’re mine.”

“I have to confiscate them because they are against the rules,” Will told him, “But I won’t tell anyone.”

The boy gave him a grateful nod.

“Do you ever look at pictures like that?” he asked.

Will swallowed as his jaw tensed. His eyes darted quickly, trying to think of an appropriate answer.

“I have in the past,” he replied in a steady voice. “I’ve tried not to lately.”

“I meant,” Hannibal clarified, “Have you ever looked at pictures of men… with other men?”

A soft breath escaped Will’s nose as he paused and fidgeted with the pockets of his cargo shorts. He did not anticipate such a direct conversation. All he wanted at this point was to assure this boy that he was not evil or dirty, as Will had believed himself to be for so long. He didn’t want him to endure the shame he had felt at a young age.

“Yes. I think it’s normal and… healthy… sometimes to think that way. However, we must realize that is not God’s plan for us.”

“God’s plan does not include what is normal and healthy,” Hannibal murmured. It came out more as a statement than a question.

“Temptation, and learning to resist temptation, is a part of growing closer to him,” Will answered.

“Did you learn to resist temptation?”

Will reached over and pulled open the drawer of his nightstand. He hesitated a bit when his fingers grasped a thick red rubber band.

“This is what I did,” he told Hannibal. He lifted the young boy’s wrist and slipped the rubber band over it. “Whenever I felt the pull of lust for my own sex, unwanted desires, I tugged on a rubber band and snapped my own wrist. It was a reminder not to think that way.”

Hannibal’s brow furrowed and he cocked his head, giving Will a very curious look. At the corner of his lip Will thought he saw a tiny quiver, an insolent snigger, but perhaps it was only a nervous twitch. After a pause in which Hannibal studied Will for a moment longer, he pulled the band away from his delicate wrist and released it with a sharp snap, never breaking his gaze with the counselor.

“It’s not so painful,” Will pointed out. “It’s just a little reminder; something to ground you when you are feeling yourself drift away.”

“I should snap this whenever I am aroused?”

Will sighed with a small cough, “Yes.”

 

* * *

 

The top of the lake was flat and smooth in the stagnant air, giving off a heavy green scent. Dragonflies flitted along the surface in ducking, weaving motions. Through the low hum broke the thumping sound of bare feet across old wood and a raucous, youthful cackle.

The boys ran out along the dock and flung themselves into the water, scrabbling and pushing each other out of the way. Will sat on the ground near the shore, observing their horseplay until his eyes settled on Hannibal. His swimsuit was shorter and tighter than the others’, clinging even dry to the curve of his bottom. He jutted his belly a bit as he walked at a languid pace along the shoreline toward Will. The counselor could see the red rubber band around his wrist.

“Going to jump in?” Will asked when Hannibal sat down near his feet.

“Maybe later,” Hannibal replied. He peered at Will’s duffel bag. “Do you have any sunscreen?”

Will looked over the boy’s soft and golden bare skin. The sun shone from behind him, illuminating hairs on his arms lighter than the skin itself. He didn’t have to prompt him to move sitting between his legs. Hannibal invited himself.

The lotion was cool against both hand and back, warming steadily as he rubbed it into flesh. There was the instantly recognizable smell, chemical, but made pleasant by the nostalgia it invoked. Will moved his hands in slow, circular motions over sharp shoulder blades, curving spine, and uniquely broad shoulders for a slender frame. He watched as they moved up and down with deepening breaths, fair body hair prickling as goosebumps rose on his skin.

Will shifted a bit and grunted. The rubber band he still wore criss-crossing over the shaft of his cock tightened. He shifted, no way to alleviate the ache. Hannibal looked over his shoulder at him, and his eyes drifted downward. They narrowed when they spotted the source of Will’s suffering, straining in an odd shape against Will’s mesh shorts. He sniffed.

When he was finished, Will rested his hands against Hannibal’s upper arms for a moment, taking in the distinctive smells of a young boy in summer. They were fainter, cleaner, for a boy such as Hannibal, but still present with an added touch of something else. Pen Ink?

 _Snap._ The sound nearly caused Will to jump. He stared down at the red rubber band on Hannibal’s delicate wrist. A faint pink line striped the skin alongside it. Hannibal gazed out at the bobbing heads and shoulders on the lake, not acknowledging the motion he had just made.

Will fell back onto the palms of his hands and scooted away from the boy.

“Better get some swimming done before supper,” he advised in a low, gently creaking voice.

Hannibal nodded and stood before Will. He slipped his thumbs under the tight fabric below the curve of his bottom, adjusting himself. A glimpse of the subtle tan line along Hannibal’s upper thighs caused Will to look away quickly.

He had to look back again and watch the nonchalant yet poised gait of the young boy who made his way into the water and submerged himself below the glinting, metallic surface.

Throughout the day and the next as Will went about his duties as counselor, sweat clinging cotton to skin, he could hear the frequent snap of thin rubber. It was like a bee sting to his nerves, making him acutely aware of his every movement and senses.

 _Snap,_ it stung, when he stretched his arms above his head, lifting his T-shirt enough to show his belly. _Snap_ when he pushed damp curls back from his forehead or when he leaned down close to help the boys with their arts and crafts. The sound a tuning fork vibrating in his ears long after it could be heard.

Counsel time addressed the issue of Christian servanthood. The passage from John advised brothers in Christ to wash one another’s feet. Once again, when it ended, Hannibal stayed behind with Will. The counselor bit his lip through utter discomfort, affecting him in more ways than one.

_Snap._

Will shuddered and looked at the boy’s wrist. Mingling lines of pink wrapped around it. He reached out and took hold, beginning to pry the band off.

“I’ve made a mistake,” Will said. “You shouldn’t have to wear this. It’s cruel.”

Hannibal retrieved his hand quickly.

“You wore it.”

“Yes, and I hated it. I shouldn’t have tried to press it on you.”

“You still wear one,” Hannibal whispered. Will glanced up at him, head lowered and blue eyes meekly lifted.

“Does it hurt?”

“It does,” Will admitted, “But I need it.”

“You need it, but not me?”

“It’s different.”

Hannibal put his hand on Will’s knee and watched him shiver.

“It’s your hair-shirt. You suffer to please the god who created you one way, and then shamed you for it.”

Will didn’t speak.

“Show me,” the boy murmured.

“Right now?”

“Yes, please. I want to see it.”

Will hesitated for a moment, and then pulled the elastic band of his shorts over his hips and around his thighs. His cock twitched, rubber band digging into the swelling shaft.

“Take it off.”

Will shook his head.

“Then you obviously think it’s deserved. So I deserve just as much.”

Will studied Hannibal’s face and then carefully removed the rubber band. It left behind red marks and Will gasped as the blood flowed into his erection.

“It looks so painful,” Hannibal said with a sympathetic expression. His voice had become softer, higher, almost cooing.

“I can bear it.”

Hannibal reached out and caressed the sore lines. Will pushed his hand away.

“I just want to make you feel better,” Hannibal urged.

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

Hannibal brought his hand back to Will and wrapped it around the young man’s cock. He began to massage the ache of the injuries into a different ache altogether.

“No,” Will whispered, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop him this time.

“I just want to make you feel good, so badly,” Hannibal told him in the sweetest voice Will had ever heard. “Please… show me how.”

Will couldn’t stifle a broken moan.

“I see it in the pictures and movies,” Hannibal went on. “They use their mouths. I want to know how to do that.”

Will’s breath was ragged. He watched in apprehension as Hannibal lowered his delicately featured face toward Will’s groin. He opened pouting, protruding lips and dragged them over Will’s erection. When they closed around the base of his shaft, nose and mouth pressed against his dark pubic hair, Will’s head lolled backward and he sighed. Instinctively, he placed his hand at the back of Hannibal’s head. Wet tongue and sucked cheeks soothed his pain as they worked up and down over him.

“You learned this from looking at pictures?”

Hannibal lifted a bit, lips already moist. He locked eyes with his mentor.

“Am I doing well?”

“Yes, it feels… it feels amazing.”

Hannibal dropped to his knees between Will’s legs.

“You don’t have to,” Will repeated.

“Tell me that I’m doing well,” Hannibal urged, and his voice was so yearning for approval that Will could not refuse him. The boy wrapped his mouth around him again and sucked; his eyes still on Will’s face.

“You…” Will gasped, “You are doing so well. You are such a good boy.”

He ran his fingers through Hannibal’s fine sandy blonde hair. The boy whimpered through his nose pleasurably, his eyes closing as he drank in the praise. He pulled back again with heavy breath.

“I like you so much,” Hannibal purred. “I want you to like me too. I want to please you.”

“I like you,” Will replied, and groaned when Hannibal’s lips worked over him once more. “You are a smart, sensitive, beautiful boy.”

Hannibal made another blissful sound and sucked harder, bobbing up and down faster. When Will broke into spasms and overwhelmed bleats, Hannibal drank down his cum eagerly. He sat back on his haunches and looked up at the young man.

Will’s misty eyes cleared and his brow furrowed in realization. His jaw trembled when he looked back at the needy face of the innocent boy who had been placed in his charge.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked. “Oh God, I’m so sorry.”

Hannibal rested his bottom on his heels as Will pushed up from the pew and darted out of the chapel.

The young counselor burst into his bedroom and slammed his back against the wall. His thoughts raced and swirled inside of his throbbing head. He could see Hannibal’s adoring face; hear his desperate pleas for affection. How he had taken advantage of that! Just a boy, without a father or brother, alone in the world, and his first real mentor abuses him. Will thought of his youth pastor.

He growled in a fit of self-loathing. He rushed to the end-table and brought out a metal ruler. Seething and gritting his teeth, he pulled his shorts back down around his thighs and stretched his flaccid cock out in front of him. He breathed heavily through his nose, prepared himself, and slapped the flat side of the ruler against his cock.

Will cried out, and then choked it back. He struck himself once more. Again and again he scourged his genitals until Hannibal’s pleading, childlike voice in his head couldn’t be heard over the sounds of his pain-filled whimpers and sobs.

Hannibal returned to his cabin. The boys were all draped in various states of disarray on their beds, sound asleep. Hannibal stepped softly over to his dresser and pulled out a lockbox. He opened it and smiled at its contents.


	3. Chapter 3

Will tried to picture the metal device in his mind’s eye. He had decided not to describe it to the camp authority, and instead blamed it on a section of the metal bed frame falling down. When Peter insisted that it had been a trap, Will pursed his lips, lowered his eyelids, and shook his head at the lead counselor. This was a paranoid teen, looking to blame someone for his clumsiness and misfortune. Peter was rushed to the hospital, exempted from his sentence at Camp Promise. It was for the best, Will thought.

“Hannibal!” he called out as the young boy left breakfast. “I need to speak with you.”

Hannibal looked around for a moment and then placidly followed Will to the cabin. Will found himself being forced to walk at the boy’s slower pace, since he only meandered with his belly-jutting posture and refused to speed up.

As soon as they entered Will’s room, Hannibal helped himself to a seat on Will’s bed. Will sat down next to him and Hannibal scooted closer.

“I know you left that trap for Peter.”

Hannibal only tossed his head and raised a single eyebrow.

“He was cruel to you, I know,” Will continued, “But what you did was even more cruel.”

Hannibal’s sharp cheekbones seemed to rise, almost as though he was smiling with his eyes.

“I don’t believe you are a wicked person,” Will told him. “You wouldn’t ordinarily do something like this, would you?”

“Why did I do it?” Hannibal asked. He had a curious tone, and Will wasn’t sure if he was questioning his own motivations, or questioning Will’s assertion.

“I think it is a cry for help,” Will explained. “I can only imagine I am partially to blame for that.”

“How?” Hannibal asked.

“I have been inappropriate with you. What I did… it wasn’t right, Hannibal. I am sorry to have taken advantage of you.”

Hannibal’s eyes glimmered and narrowed.

“Is that why I have misbehaved?”

“Young people who are brought into sexual situations with authority figures often become subconsciously resentful and lash out at those around them.”

Hannibal nodded.

“That makes a lot of sense,” he murmured. “Is that what happened to you?”

Will sighed heavily enough for his shoulders to shudder.

“It’s not uncommon for abused people to become abusers…”

“Don’t recite,” Hannibal interrupted. He softened his speech when Will blinked and he added, “I want to hear it in your own words.”

“My youth pastor,” Will replied in a low voice.

“He was inappropriate with you?”

“Once,” Will admitted. “Then he… stopped.”

Will’s eyes glazed over, entranced by a memory. His brow furrowed.

“Did he apologize, as you are apologizing to me now?”

“No,” Will whispered, shaking his head, his lips forming the word with conviction.

Hannibal cocked his head and leaned in.

“I had told him about some of the thoughts I was having,” Will said. “He gave me the rubber band and told me how to use it.”

“But the rubber band didn’t work,” Hannibal stated.

“No, it didn’t. When I went to him again he asked me to tell him in greater detail what I was fantasizing about. As I spoke, I realized he was touching me.”

“Did you want him to touch you?” Hannibal asked.

“I didn’t know what I wanted,” Will’s voice creaked. “I looked up to him so much. I just wanted him to accept me, to care about me.”

“What happened next?”

“He abandoned me,” Will shuddered. “He told me that I should switch to another class. He told me that it wasn’t my fault that the devil had put me into his life, but he couldn’t be around me anymore. We haven’t had a real conversation since then.”

“You were a young boy,” Hannibal said, propping himself on his hands and leaning against Will’s shoulder. “And yet you were painted as the seducer. He, a grown man, blamed you for his corruption.”

“I know now that he was wrong.”

“Do you?” Hannibal asked. “You still agonize over the morality of your sexuality, and try to pass on your youth pastor’s teachings on the matter.”

Will grimaced and looked over at Hannibal’s wrist.

“I’m glad that you have taken that thing off,” he told him. “You shouldn’t have to wear it.”

“I’m still wearing it,” Hannibal replied.

Will raised an eyebrow then realization came over his face.

“Oh no,” he whispered. “No, take it off.”

“I like it.”

Will’s eyes narrowed as he studied Hannibal. The young boy leaned back on his hands, stretching out his torso and spreading his legs.

“Do you want to see it?” he asked.

“Hannibal,” Will sighed, “I can’t do that with you again.”

“I know you’ve seen me,” Hannibal murmured. “When I was in the shower, I noticed your reflection in the tap. You were watching me.”

Will’s face grew tight.

“It’s all right, I wanted you to see me,” he paused and then added with a sly smile, “I was seducing you.”

“You are very young,” Will explained. “It’s normal for you to have a crush on a mentor, but it isn’t right for that mentor to take advantage of you.”

Hannibal’s bemused expression dropped and he looked downward with his chin pressed to his collar.

“Do you want me to stop talking to you?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying.”

“I could ask to switch cabins but…” Hannibal gazed into the middle distance, “but I think they would probably ask me why."

“Please,” Will’s voice fell to a hush, “Please don’t do that.”

“It’s not so bad,” Hannibal assured him. “Look.”

He slipped his thumbs beneath his waistband and pulled his pants around lean hips.

Will set his eyes on Hannibal’s half-erection, bound in red rubber.

“I occasionally snap myself,” Hannibal explained, “But it’s not that effective. I think it is subconscious reticence that softens my touch.”

“It helps to be motivated by self-loathing,” Will sighed. He couldn’t stop staring at the boy’s bareness; the subtle twitch of his cock, the strain of his hips.

“Do you think I deserved to be punished?”

“Only for what you did to Peter.”

Hannibal laid his head on his shoulder.

“Go ahead,” he coaxed. “It’s fine that you want to.”

Will paused for a moment, chewing his lip as his breath deepened. Finally he reached out and slowly slid his hand over Hannibal’s pale hip. He gripped it with his thumb and fingers, admiring the way they indented his flesh. Then with his other hand, he fingered the rubber band.

Hannibal shivered and a tiny smile twitched at the corner of his pouting lips. Will pulled tight on the rubber band and, locking eyes with Hannibal, released it with a pleasurable snap.

The boy jumped, a high sound emitting from between pressed lips. Will felt a tingling sensation pass over his neck and ears. His chest heaved with each inhale. He snapped him again, quicker now. The room was oppressively silent except for his soft breathing, the sweet whimpers of Hannibal, and the delicious snap of rubber against skin.

Will watched Hannibal’s face as he hurt him. The boy fell flat on the bed, twisting and jumping with each snap. His noises were louder now, although subdued enough not to alert anyone outside. Gasping cries emerged from the back of his throat. It was nothing compared to the suffering Peter had endured, Will thought to himself, and pulled back farther, snapping harder. He had never felt so aggressive before, but his head was too flooded with pleasant buzzing to focus on any guilt. His belly and groin throbbed.

Whenever Will had flagellated himself, he continued until he lost his erection. Hannibal, however, only stiffened as his voice grew more anxious, more repentant. Will marveled at this. The boy was so intriguing, so strange. The truly bizarre thing, in Will’s mind, was realizing that as his fondness and arousal grew, so did his desire to make Hannibal cry out and squirm.

The rubber was beginning to leave behind stripes that were almost as red as the band itself. He saw the wetness in Hannibal’s eyes and the lustful quivering of his tummy and Will suddenly gripped the boy’s testicles in his hand. He squeezed and pulled, a storm erupting in his blue eyes.

Hannibal released a cry and his knees lifted as he brought his backside up off the mattress. Will glimpsed his bottom and when Hannibal spread his legs and wriggled, he could see a soft pink hole. He lurched forward and straddled Hannibal, jaw clenched and nose flaring. He slid his fingers along Hannibal’s crack and over the puckered texture of his opening.

Hannibal gasped gently, his mouth forming an “O” as he gazed up at Will. His fair eyebrows crinkled and he shuddered. In an accommodating gesture, he lifted his knees again, toward his chest.

Will licked his fingers and ran it over the boy’s opening once more, entering him slightly. Hannibal groaned and lifted his chin, displaying his young throat. Will pinned him down, and began to fumble with his own cock. He pulled it out and pressed it against Hannibal’s ass. He lifted his bottom higher, pushing back against Will. When the older boy steadily guided himself inside of him, Hannibal moaned in gratitude.

Will pushed in and out, grunting from the tightness of the young boy. Hannibal screwed his face up in pain and whimpered. He allowed himself to be stretched and fucked, enjoying Will’s infliction upon him. Will glowered down, a slight cat grin playing at his mouth as he watched the boy take further punishment for him. The tingling and buzzing mingled together to create a beautiful high. Hurting this impudent boy felt so good.

“You won’t be telling anyone anything,” he snarled and shocked himself with the sound of his own voice, the words that spilled out from him.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Hannibal keened, tossing his head from the ache and burn. “I won’t tell anyone… I won’t tell anyone…”

Outside, the early morning crickets still sang in the remaining coolness of the day. Boyish shouts from afar indicated the first activities. Will’s responsibilities seemed to fade into the background. Behind the rush of power and desire, he knew that as soon as this moment ended they would all come rushing back and he would regret everything he had done. He knew himself. But that was then, and this was now. Now Hannibal’s slender frame trembled beneath him, his sweet noises urging him deeper and deeper into a place he’d never dared to go before.


	4. Chapter 4

Will wasn’t nearby to hear the screams this time. When the crowd of campers grouped around the infirmary door, one of the leaders came out and said to him, “Your boys keep getting hurt.”

No one needed to tell him. Will knew immediately that it was Malcolm in there. He glanced over at Hannibal, who was blending in with the rest of the boys, craning his neck to peer in the infirmary window.

His eyes locked on the child and his vision started to pull of focus, as if he were moving further and further away. Everything Hannibal was doing looked like a performance in a silent movie to Will. Bringing himself up on tiptoes, leaning over to whisper to another boy, shrugging; all pantomime and without any sound to Will’s ears.

Hannibal’s narrow eyes slid to one side to glimpse Will. The older boy was frozen, staring dumb and opaque. He felt a hand on his shoulder and realized that the leader’s lips were moving.

“What did you say?” he asked, and his own voice sounded far away.

“You better go in and take a look,” the leader repeated. “You won’t believe it.”

A thousand horrors flitted through Will’s thoughts as he entered the building. He cast one last glance at Hannibal, who looked abuzz with energy.

The camp nurses hovered over Malcolm, who was beginning to look like a gooey mummy from the hydrocortisone cream and gauze they were wrapping around his arms and face. One steadied a shot of epinephrine. The kid looked like he had put on thirty pounds. His flesh was oddly puffy, his mouth puckering between swollen cheeks like a fat little bird. Tears squeezed out from his barely-open eyes. Here and there his skin was dotted with ugly pink and white boils that appeared ready to burst. Will could barely recognize him, not that he needed to.

“Yellow jackets,” one of the nurses told him. “Ambulance is on its way.”

“How…” Will began in a hoarse voice.

“Not sure,” she replied. “He can’t speak. I’m guessing there’s a nest along the wilderness edge, where the boys sometimes do their business so they don’t have to stop and head to the restroom.”

A whining sound escaped from Malcolm’s lips.

“Hhh…” he hissed.

Will leaned forward and touched his hand.

“We’ll find it, Malcolm,” he assured him. “You just keep still and wait for the ambulance.”

When Will emerged from the infirmary, Hannibal was waiting for him with hands clasped behind his back.

“My cabin, right now,” Will barked. Hannibal kept pace with him to Will’s room. The counselor pushed the door shut and turned back to the boy, arms crossed in front of him, visibly seething.

“What did you do?” he chided.

Hannibal shrugged and said, “When the forces of nature turn on a wicked person, it’s usually attributed to Karma.”

Will’s eyes widened.

“You need help, Hannibal. I have to report you.”

“You would risk exposing yourself.”

“My word against yours,” Will replied after a deep inhale.

“Either way, the very accusation would cling to you.”

“How,” Will was flustered. “Honestly, Hannibal, how dare you?”

Hannibal’s face smoothed and he moved closer.

“I’m sorry, Will,” he murmured. “I’m just frightened.”

Will cocked his head and studied the young boy, his eyes darting over him as if seeing him for the first time.

“I have to question the sincerity of everything you say.”

“Can’t we handle this situation ourselves, just the two of us?”

Will felt that same tingle at the back of his neck and over his ears.

“Would that even be effective?” he asked.

“Of course it would,” Hannibal whispered, drawing so close that Will could feel the body heat radiating off of his skin, smell his clean scent. “You can help me, Will. You can set me right.”

Will placed his hand at the side of Hannibal’s neck and clutched him.

“Punish me yourself, Will.” Hannibal coaxed. “Don’t ruin our lives with their interference.”

He paused and added in a breathy, pleading voice, “Please. Please, Will, punish me now.”

Nothing else made Will feel this way. Whenever the boy begged him to punish him, it triggered in him a previously unfamiliar bestial response: blissful aggression without the sting of anger. He stared at him with gun-steel eyes, letting the suggestion sink in and the feeling rush over him.

A knowing smile spread over Hannibal’s lips. He withdrew from Will, turned away, and walked toward the bed. Will watched him, stunned. A snarl began to curl at the corner of his mouth and crinkled his nose. It was then that he did feel angry. This belligerent boy was so confident in his ability to control and manipulate him. Will stayed put.

The seconds moved slowly, and Hannibal became anxious. His presumptuousness faded and he began to fidget.

“I’ll be good,” he finally said in a desperate squeak. “I promise you, I will behave myself.”

“It’s too late for that!” Will spat. He marched toward Hannibal and grabbed him by his shirt collar. He pushed the boy through the cabin and out the door. Hannibal stumbled forward from the force of it. He stared back at Will with his mouth agape.

“Get yourself to Bible class!” Will ordered, and shut the door behind him.

The weather was noticeably cooler later that day and the boys thrived from the relief, running and bouncing with energy. Will could barely settle them enough to pass out the penny shirts that distinguished teams for a game of dodge-ball. The campers grabbed the satiny mesh shirts and flapped them unfolded. They attempted to shake off the musty fabric and cupboard smell that clings to clothes piled and packed away for three seasons.

The surface of the single-basket court was broken up in a spider web pattern, chunks of cement pushed askew by swelling earth beneath and hardy weeds. It was no longer useful for purposes intended. The plateau was a tripping hazard, not to mention impossible to dribble on. It had become a gathering place when needed. The rusted pole and sagging basket, combined with the scrabble and overgrowth made it seem almost like a child’s version of an ancient ruin.

“All right, listen up,” Will announced. “I’m sure you’ve all heard by now that Malcolm had to go to the hospital.”

Will deliberately avoided looking at Hannibal.

“He probably won’t be coming back.”

The kids looked around, unable to hide their apathy.

Will continued, “He was attacked by a nest of yellow jackets.”

“What’s a yellow jacket?” one boy called out in a husky voice.

“It’s like a bee,” Will answered.

“What’s a bee?” another kid blurted in a stupid tone that mocked the other boy’s. He got an elbow to the side and the rest giggled.

“The sting…” Will went on, “It’s very painful; extremely… painful. It can cause a dangerous allergic reaction.”

He wondered if Hannibal felt guilt, but still didn’t look at him.

“So, watch out if you are near the trees. Don’t go into the brush to pee!”

The boys groaned.

“You use the bathrooms,” Will instructed, then muttered with a grin, “Animals.”

They laughed and jostled around.

“All right, let’s head to the field!” Will shouted.

The campers swarmed and divided over the uneven clearing. They played happily and with a surprising amount of peace. Will no longer had to fret over the smaller boys now that Peter and Malcolm were gone. It was kind of nice, but Will admonished himself for thinking so. He didn’t want to entertain the notion that Hannibal had improved the camp for everyone. He could hardly enjoy the cool breeze for the persistent heat of amber eyes set on him.

Finally his own eyes were pulled like magnets toward the beautiful boy. He moved them away quickly, only focusing just long enough to spy the rubber band back on Hannibal’s wrist. An attempt at an apology? Will didn’t know.

The cool weather that night provided the leads with a perfect opportunity to build a campfire and provide the kids with marshmallows for roasting. A woody, pleasant smoke billowed into the air and soaked into the clothing and hair of the boys surrounding the fire pit. The smell of it would cling and grow stale on those who preferred not to bathe until forced to do so.

Will wandered away and followed the plane of cabin wall with an outstretched hand. He could hear a soft step-stepping in his direction and he didn’t need to identify the maker with a look over his shoulder. The light, controlled gait was unmistakable.

“No, I don’t want to speak with you, Hannibal,” Will muttered.

The boy still followed after him like a needy pup. Will kept walking, until finally turning back on him. He pointed a flattened hand toward the campfire.

“Go back to the others,” he commanded.

“What is it?” the young boy huffed. “Do you believe the devil put me in your life?” he asked.

Will glowered at him.

“No,” he replied. “You _are_ the devil.” 

Hannibal froze and Will stalked off. He tried not to look back at the slight boy who stared at him with a hurt expression and one hand gripping his arm at the elbow. Will picked up his pace and went into his cabin, shutting the door behind him.

The next day was the same, only with even more cold silence from Will. He didn’t even grant Hannibal the comfort of eye contact.

At counsel time, Will nudged his way between two campers on the pew. He could see Hannibal standing dejectedly to one side before settling in an empty pew. It truly occurred to Will just how lonely and isolated Hannibal was; this clever boy brimming under the surface with resentment and hostility, a brain that never stopped ticking. How must life be like for him? He tried to bury the tenderness that bruised him in that moment. Still, he maintained his stoic distance.

On the third day, Will noticed Hannibal’s absence. He didn’t have to wonder long before a leader approached him.

“Hannibal has to leave,” the man said.

“What do you mean?”

“He came to our office today and told us that he was responsible for the injuries of Peter and Malcolm. He’s waiting in the isolation cabin for officers to come pick him up tomorrow and take him to juvie.”

Will’s throat constricted and all he could do was nod. He imagined a boy like Hannibal locked up in a place like that. He would be bullied constantly, for certain; an effeminate, prideful, and pretty young thing in a room full of brutes. The older ones will use him, Will thought to himself, for whatever pleasure they liked. He couldn’t bear the thought. He looked over at the solemn, tiny cabin built off to one side of the commons and all of his animosity dissolved into pity.


	5. Chapter 5

As night fell and the irregular, scuffling sound of a dozen snores filled the cabin, Will lay awake in his bed. His body virtually itched with anxiety. He seemed to stand not of his own volition, but from the unbearable discomfort of his thoughts. He picked up his backpack and, with a sleepwalker’s pace, he found himself leaving the cabin and making his way toward the administration office.

He removed the counselor’s key ring from his pack and unlocked one of the double doors. He knew where to find the key to the single-bunk cabin, in the file cabinet.

As he walked toward the isolation cabin, he felt like he was visiting a convicted criminal in a prison cell. It may as well have been the case.

He heard the creaking of the cot as the door opened. His eyes adjusted to the darkness enough to see a slender frame erect on the bed.

“Will?” the familiar voice emerged from the shadows.

“Hello, Hannibal.”

He flipped on the switch and the young boy shielded his eyes with one hand. Will went to the bed and sat down beside him.

“Thank you for coming,” Hannibal murmured.

“I’m not sure why I did,” the older boy replied.

“Regardless, I’m glad.”

“I need to know something,” Will said.

“Anything,” Hannibal promised.

“What did you do,” Will asked, “To get sent here?”

Hannibal settled.

“I attacked my uncle,” he answered. “I stabbed him in the arm with a knife. I had lived with him up to that point.”

Will took a breath.

“Why?”

He knew the answer.

“I was fending him off. Enough was enough.”

“Why didn’t you tell this to the court?”

“And then what?” Hannibal demanded. “End up in foster care, or a group home?”

“Well now you are headed to juvie. Is that better?”

Hannibal’s eyes glinted and Will could already read the boy’s mind. He clenched and inhaled, waiting for the impending request.

“We could leave now,” Hannibal whispered, drawing closer.

Will’s frustrated exhale was audible.

“We are both minors. Where would we go?”

Hannibal retrieved his solution as though it were in his pocket.

“Back to my uncle’s house. Under threat of my disclosure, he could be persuaded to drop the charges and intervene on my behalf. He is a very wealthy and powerful man.”

Will shook his head and asked, “Why not do that in the first place?”

Hannibal’s voice took on a new intensity when he answered, “I had to get out. I had to see if I could…” He trailed off.

Will’s jaw clenched. This whole revelation sounded so planned, so damning to him in retrospect.

“You were looking for someone like me.”

“You can return with me. We could share a room. You can protect me.”

“I don’t know why I continue to be surprised by you,” Will muttered. “You’ve really orchestrated this all so well. Was anything ever not planned?”

Hannibal clutched Will’s arm.

“Please help me, Will,” he begged. “Please, don’t abandon me.”

“And continue to be used by you?”

Hannibal’s grip tightened.

“Use me right back,” he persisted. Will felt a twitch in his ears.

“Do whatever you want with me,” Hannibal continued. “I won’t protest. Just please, don’t leave me.”

The concept was so foreign to Will, and yet, so enticing.

“Always punishing you, just as you would have it.”

“Just as you like it,” Hannibal pointed out. “I know.”

Despite Hannibal’s pleading tone, Will knew he would not be holding the reigns. In the end, he would be forever serving Hannibal’s whims. He stood up and walked toward the door. A single glance back at Hannibal revealed the same hopeless, dejected face he had seen before. There was something there that caused Will to turn around, to reconsider.

“I promise I will obey you,” Hannibal insisted. “I can be good… for you.”

_For me,_ Will thought, _only for me_. He lolled his head to one side.

A soft cracking voice beseeched him, “Please don’t go. I want to obey. I want to accept everything you give me, no matter how painful.”

Will’s head began to buzz.

“Pour out all your cruelty and resentment onto me,” Hannibal said.

Will felt the snap inside of him once again. He marched toward Hannibal and forced him onto his belly, bent over the edge of the bed. He yanked down the boys pants and underwear. Hannibal scooted his feet inward, lifting his bottom. Other than that, he didn’t move from the position Will put him in. His hands were pinned beneath him and he waited with lips parted and eyelids heavy for Will to act.

Will dug into his backpack to pull out his metal ruler. An encouraging whimper issued from the prone boy.

“Beg me,” Will ordered. “Beg me to punish you. And make me believe it is genuine.”

“Please punish me.”

Hannibal lifted himself up on his toes and spread his legs a bit. Will’s cock swelled against the pressure of his jeans.

“I need it,” Hannibal continued. “As much as you wish. Please, give me what I deserve. Don’t stop until you are satisfied.”

Will wrapped an arm around Hannibal’s waist, raising his hips even higher. He smacked the ruler against his pale skin, raising beautiful pink marks that deepened in color as he continued to thrash him.

Hannibal’s cries filled Will’s body with electricity. There was nothing more pleasurable to him than those frail bleats and sobs, the writhing and wriggling of his pain-shocked young body. Hannibal’s hips trembled and bucked with the merciless blows. His backside became inflamed, each swat blurring together into a constant, throbbing burn.

“Thank you!” Hannibal wept, and the sound was incomparably sweet. “Oh… thank you… thank you…”

The last grateful word was broken into a wracked sob, like a dam bursting, and all tension in his body and mind came pouring out in his tears.

It dawned on Will that this was a reward for Hannibal, or at the very least, a reprieve. The true punishment had been ignoring him. Will’s former despair faded into the past when he realized that this was how he could control the willful boy.

Grunting, he stood Hannibal up and turned him about-face. He grasped the front of his throat with his hand as his face hovered over Hannibal’s tear-stained cheeks. Then he reached down and fondled the boy’s throbbing genitals.

Hannibal sniffled and sighed. He closed his eyes and relaxed into the touch, practically hanging by his jaw from Will’s firm hand.

“Please fuck me,” he pleaded. “Hard. Make it hurt. Please, Will.”

Will turned the young boy around again and threw him down on the bed. Hannibal spread his legs and pushed his ass out, still trembling and sniffling.

Will granted the boy’s wish with a passion. He dropped his jeans and fed his cock inside of him, slamming his hips against Hannibal’s when he had stretched him open.

Hannibal responded with desperate, sharp moans. He bit his bottom lip in an attempt to subdue them into muffled whimpers, but his efforts failed and he cried out and squirmed as Will forced the small, tight boy to accommodate him. His hips slapped against Hannibal’s burning ass again and again until the boy had to collapse from the abuse onto the bed, his quivering form open and vulnerable to Will’s subjugation of him.

Will came with a final, deeply penetrating thrust. He fell on top of him and groaned into Hannibal’s shoulder.

“Whenever I want,” he whispered, “I can do this to you?”

“Yes,” came Hannibal’s submissive response.

“Pack your bags,” Will ordered.

As they trekked down the darkened path to the parking lot where Will’s hand-me-down station wagon awaited, the air was heavy with a strange energy that foreshadowed an oncoming summer storm. The wind whipped the branches of the trees and seemed to enforce an obstacle for what Will knew could be a dire mistake. It was futile, just like every nagging thought in his mind.

When they were on the road and Hannibal was dozing against the fogging car window, Will spotted the red rubber band on the young boy’s wrist.

It was not unlike a collar around Hannibal’s neck. Even so, Will felt as though there was an invisible string tying the band to himself; eternally attached to the wearer, inescapably entwined. 


End file.
